


Flying Full Throttle into a Hurricane

by MsPeppernose



Series: Panties 'verse [2]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, PWP, Panty Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 07:43:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5197859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsPeppernose/pseuds/MsPeppernose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well, they’re ruined,” Pete says, even though he doesn’t really care all that much.</p><p>“Completely ruined?”</p><p>“Yep. They’re totalled.” He dangles what’s left of his pale blue lacy panties in front of Patrick’s face until Patrick snatches them from him. Pete watches him examine them for a moment, and there’s a pretty visible rip at the seam. They’re a flimsy, gauzy fabric so they probably wouldn’t have lasted very long anyway, despite their ridiculous price tag.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flying Full Throttle into a Hurricane

**Author's Note:**

> As always, my eternal gratitude to the amazing Immoral Crow for her unending patience with me, and also aiding and abetting this nonsense. A big thank you to Jiksa for some awesome cheerleading too!
> 
> Title is a line from season two of House of Cards which I was watching while trying to think of a title. It seems fitting for these two :)

“Well, they’re ruined,” Pete says, even though he doesn’t really care all that much.

“Completely ruined?”  
“Yep. They’re totalled.” He dangles what’s left of his pale blue lacy panties in front of Patrick’s face until Patrick snatches them from him. Pete watches him examine them for a moment, and there’s a pretty visible rip at the seam. They’re a flimsy, gauzy fabric so they probably wouldn’t have lasted very long anyway, despite their ridiculous price tag.  
“Sorry,” Patrick says, and he does look it. A little, at least. “Got carried away.”  
“Dude, I don’t care that you ripped my panties. I wouldn’t care if you’d ripped my jeans and my shirt either for that matter. That was totally hot.” He means it, too. 

Pete doesn’t always wear panties. They’re more for special occasions, like when he wants to feel pretty, or when he wants to tease Patrick. 

Earlier, when he checked into his hotel room, he laid the panties laid out on the bed covers and then sent a picture of them to Patrick as a little taste of what was to come later. Pete wore them for their show that night of course, and when he pressed in close to Patrick during their set, like he always does, he murmured “Blue panties,” in Patrick’s ear, and moaned softly against his neck, just loud enough for him to hear over the din. He then took off, spinning across the stage, and grinned when Patrick hit a very high note in the wrong place. 

They had to deal with the usual after-show bullshit so it was quite a while before they made it back to the hotel. But as soon as they were through the door of Pete’s room, Patrick had him pressed up against the wall, devouring him. The panties didn’t stand a chance really.

“Yeah, it was amazing,” Patrick says, grinning. “I’ll get you new ones.”  
“Good. Nice ones?”  
“Of course. Only the best. Whatever you want.”

Pete trusts Patrick’s taste in lingerie much more than he ever expected to, though he’s never thought too much about Patrick’s taste in lingerie really.

Pete’s tried so many styles and versions that he’s starting to have his own taste, though he’s always open to trying a new cut or colour, especially if Patrick picks them out for him. So far, the best was a pair of pink lace boy-cut shorts, and they lasted about three minutes before Patrick got them off him. He hadn’t worn them out or under his jeans, just for Patrick. The worst was a red thong that looked super-hot on, and made his dick look amazing, but the fabric made his balls itch so bad he ended up ditching them and going commando because he scratched so much he looked as if he had an infection. Patrick never even got to see them, sadly.

“I’ll wear whatever you pick out anyway,” Pete decides, and cuddles in close to Patrick, burrowing down in the bed and getting his head on the nook of Patrick’s shoulder. He falls asleep thinking of all the wonderful variations of lace and silk and satin that Patrick could possibly pick out.

*

Patrick makes good on his promise, and when Pete goes to fish his book from under the pillow in his bunk, there’s a small, flat gift box under there too. It’s a plain cream coloured box with the _La Perla_ logo over the front. Pete smiles; Patrick wasn’t kidding when he said he’d get Pete the good stuff.

Pete pulls his curtain shut the last few inches where he’d left it open earlier. The other guys know that Pete and Patrick hook up sometimes, but Pete has no intentions of giving away his secret underwear _thing_. 

He’s so careful opening his little box, lifting the lid and then carefully unfolding the tissue paper inside. The panties are black, and a mix of mesh and lace and they look simple and classic, but very sexy. He holds them up and admires them, _praying_ no one decides to open his curtain right now. The cut looks like they’ll be low on his hips, low enough to go under his jeans, and the when he turns them over, the shape should make his ass look _awesome_. Patrick has done very well indeed.

He texts Patrick who’s off on a coffee run with Joe, and tells him how much he loves his gift. He leaves it unsaid how much he loves Patrick; that’s always unsaid between them. He receives a simple smiley in return, and it makes Pete smile for real.

Pete, of course, has to try on his gift. He shimmies out of his jeans and pulls his shirt off over his head for good measure. His boxers get kicked off and they end up in the mess at the end of his bunk so that he’s naked; a blank canvas. He takes his panties out of the box so carefully, they’re a very precious gift after all. (A very precious gift that Patrick will get his hands into and maybe even rip, but precious nonetheless.) He slips them on and glides them up his legs, over his thighs, and _yes_ , they feel gorgeous on. 

Of course he doesn’t have a mirrored ceiling in his bunk, though he really wants one now. There’s a full length mirror on the back of the bathroom door but it’s not worth the chance of getting caught, so he uses the front camera on his phone as a sort-of-mirror to get a better view of what he’s working with. 

The colour looks wonderful against his skin. As for the cut, that’s fucking perfect too; low enough so that the waistband won’t be seen, and they feel snug all over. It takes a little bit of amateur acrobatics in the small space, but he manages to get a view of his ass, and he was right; the cut flatters his shape really well.

Patrick might be a musical genius, but it seems he’s possibly missing his calling in lingerie design, or personal shopping or something. 

Pete resists the urge to take some pictures to send them to Patrick as a tease, because he’s learned his lesson in that department. Though he laments it as he locks his phone and puts it away. Taking pictures of a pair of panties on a bed is one thing, taking pictures of himself _in_ the panties is quite another, and there’s no way he could get away with it. His tattoos so recognisable if the pictures were ever leaked.

They feel so good, though, and the fabric is not silk but some sort of silk-mix that feels soft like butter on his skin. He runs his hand over himself firmly, and then trails his fingertips lightly over his growing erection, and he has to bite back a little moan. He’s getting hard from thinking about Patrick’s reaction, and how good it’s going to feel when Patrick touches him _through_ them. 

Pete could definitely touch himself now, he’s learned the art of jerking off silently because he’s _had_ to, living in a shared space. 

He decides not to, though. He’s going to wait until he’s with Patrick, let himself get all worked up thinking about it, make himself want it even more. Even if they don’t have a hotel night tonight, he and Patrick are good at finding places backstage, and if all else fails, he’ll kick Trohman off the bus to share with Andy so that Patrick can pull Pete’s panties off with his teeth in a bunk.

Pete pulls his jeans and t-shirt back on, leaving his panties in place, and they still feel amazing even with his clothes on over them. 

Sometimes Pete tells Patrick when he has panties on, teasing Patrick, showing Patrick the lacy trim when no one is looking, whispering to Patrick how good they look on. Sometimes Pete lets Patrick stick his hand down the front of his jeans, or peel open his fly, and find out for himself without a single word of warning, and Pete wishes he could keep a picture of the bliss on Patrick’s face when he finds out.

Other times Pete wears them when Patrick isn’t even around, and it’s those days that it’s purely for himself. He loves wearing panties when he’s out and about. He can fuck around with the guys, pranking and laughing and acting the idiot, and underneath it all, he has his beautiful, delicate panties on and _no one knows_. It’s a secret, and a wonderful one at that. He’s flashed the waistband of his _Diesel_ and _Ellen_ boxers enough times when he knows people are definitely looking, that he’s sure no one suspects. 

He wore panties to the gym one time, and he found out the hard way that wearing flimsy and very small underwear while trying to run or lift is a very silly idea. Function over fetish.

Regardless, it’s become one of his favourite things, because it’s _his_ , and because he gets to share it with Patrick.

*

When he finally catches up with Patrick again, it’s at the venue for tonight’s show.

The band have a hundred and one things to do before stage call - from soundcheck, to meet and greets, to press - so they’re all kept extremely busy. He sees Patrick first when they’re all together in a group, so he can’t exactly bound up to him and flash his lacy underwear to the entire room. It’s frustrating in a way, because Pete is so fucking excited to show Patrick, but he knows from experience that it will add to the anticipation. He’s used to not being able to touch Patrick much in public anyway.

When Pete finally gets Patrick alone, it’s in the dressing room. The door is unlocked, and Pete knows that there will be people bustling around until after the show so that can’t _do things,_ but he slides up close to Patrick anyway.

“Hey,” Pete says, and he brushes his finger over the back of Patrick’s hand, a tiny intimate gesture.  
“You like your gift then?” Patrick asks. His eyes flicker to Pete’s, and then drop to Pete’s mouth, and then Patrick stares back at the magazine in his hand again.  
“Mmm hmm,” Pete murmurs. Patrick’s magazine is abandoned again when Pete leans in closers and says, “They feel really good on, too.”  
“You’re wearing them?” And Patrick’s voice sounds a little lower, a little breathier.  
“Of course.” Because, duh! What else was Pete supposed to do with such a beautiful surprise?

Patrick closes his eyes for a second, and he looks like he’s steadying himself. There’s a hint of a smile when he opens his eyes. 

The door of the dressing room might be unlocked, but it’s still closed, so Pete chances getting right up in Patrick’s space, and he places a little nip of a kiss right behind Patrick’s ear. He rubs his cheek against Patrick’s, like a cat rubs itself round its owner’s legs; a hug without the hug.

“I wish you hadn’t told me. Won’t be able to think of anything else.”  
“That’s kinda the point,” Pete says, voice low and velvety, and he says it right against the Patrick’s neck. He wants to lick it, wants to drag his teeth down it. He trails his lips down lightly, briefly, and then pulls away, cautious that the door could fly open at any minute. 

“We don’t have a hotel, though.” And Patrick is always so beautiful when he’s flustered. Pete’s heart thuds hard and he has to force himself to keep his distance. For now. He’ll get his time later.  
“I promise I’ll find somewhere for us to do nasty things. I’m already working on it.”  
“I’m not giving you a handjob in the parking lot again,” Patrick says, flushing.  
“You won’t have to.” Even if Pete remembers that handjob bring super fucking hot, especially when he had to go sit on the bus afterwards with come drying in his jeans.

Pete’s been thinking about it since he tried on his glorious underwear, and he’s even had a word with poor Marcus who, god love him, is well used to Pete asking for ridiculous things, including finding hidey-holes to make Patrick come his brains out in. 

There’s a tiny barely-used room that will be perfect, and Pete can’t wait, his skin already humming at the thought, but there’s a show to perform first.

The show is not especially different to any other show, but Pete is buzzing with anticipation, and he can feel the thrum of energy under his skin, the electricity in his bones, when he spins and jumps and leans so close to Patrick, close enough that he can breathe right against Patrick’s skin.

He’s careful not to get too far into the pit at the end, and makes certain that the tank he wears falls low over his hips to avoid any accidental wardrobe malfunction. He gets a thrill out of it though; no one knows but him and Patrick.

As they walk off the stage at the end, Patrick slings his arm around Pete’s waist in what would be seen by anyone else as a friendly gesture, a pat on the back for a show well done. But Pete knows it’s a silent claim on what will soon be his.

During the perfunctory post-show things, there’s a few little glances between them, and they both know they mean Slip away. It’s time.

When Pete pushes Patrick into the small office-turned-romantic-getaway, Patrick doesn’t look quite convinced. Pete can’t really blame him. It’s not even close to what Pete wants either, but it’ll do in a pinch. There’s a desk, a mostly clean sofa, enough light to see what the hell they’re doing, and most importantly, a lock on the door so they can barricade themselves away from prying eyes.

“You want to do it in here?” Patrick asks, but he’s already slotting his hands to Pete’s hips.  
“No. I want to spread you out in a king size hotel bed and lick every inch of your naked body, and maybe eat you out for a bit while I’m at it. Then I want you to pin me down and fuck me hard enough that I limp tomorrow.” His hand is on Patrick’s hip, so his skims his finger up under the shirt, and rubs over Patrick’s soft skin. “But really, I’m not going to be picky, because anywhere that you would want to do anything with me sounds pretty fucking perfect. I’ll always take what you’re willing to give me.”

Patrick seems to appreciate Pete’s words more and more, and maybe the dim little office room isn’t quite so unusable, because Patrick leans in and kisses him slow and dirty. First it’s just on the lips, and Pete catches Patrick plump lower lip between his own, strokes his tongue over it. Then Patrick’s mouth finds Pete’s neck, his pulse point, and he sucks just enough for Pete to feel it.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Pete says, giving Patrick an out, just in case. 

But Patrick just shakes his head. “Let me see you,” he says, and grazes his teeth down the side of Pete’s neck and then pulls back to get a good view. Pete takes a step backwards too, so that he’s against the wall, and throws Patrick a dirty, dirty grin.

They’ve just come off stage after being watched by thousands of rapturous kids, and yet that’s less than nothing compared to Patrick’s gaze dropping down Pete’s body to his fly. Pete is halfway hard already, and getting harder as he begins to undo his buckle, belt, button. He’s been waiting for this moment, though. Ever since he opened that little gift box in his bunk, he’s been dying to see Patrick’s reaction to his lingerie-clad dick. He holds his shirt up out of the way with one hand so that Patrick can get a proper view.

Patrick’s breath catches audibly when Pete shoves his jeans down his thighs, and Pete feels a flush of pride that he’s the one that caused Patrick to make that sound. 

Patrick’s fingers go to Pete’s hip bones immediately, tracing the v-line down, and he doesn’t stop at the lace waistband, continuing all the way down to Pete’s balls, and then starting a return journey. Patrick’s touch feels so fucking good, all the more magnified by the feeling of the fabric against Pete’s skin. He starts a pathway down again, but this time it diverges and he rubs his whole hand all over the panties and Pete’s hard-on, and Pete huffs out a breath as he feels heat prickle in his groin.

Patrick pushes Pete’s jeans with both hands so that they’re mid-thigh, and Pete whips off his own tank top; it’s oversized and sweaty, and just plain in the way. He wants Patrick’s hands on him anywhere and everywhere, and he doesn’t need any stupid shirt impeding that.

“Fuck. I knew they’d look so good on you. Look at you.”  
“You did well. I love ‘em.”  
“So fucking pretty,” Patrick says, and runs his fingers over the lace band, which sends a shiver through Pete’s entire body.  
“You gonna rip ‘em off me?” Pete drawls.  
Patrick shakes his head. “Not yet anyway. You might get two wears out of these ones.” 

Pete’s okay with that. They’re too beautiful to be destroyed anyway, even if he thought of Patrick ripping them is insanely hot.

There isn’t near enough body contact yet for Pete’s liking, so he cups both hands to Patrick’s jaw, kissing him intently, and Patrick’s lips are loose and wet and perfect. Patrick sighs into Pete’s mouth, and Pete knows that Patrick wants it as much as he does right now. He traces his tongue around the wet seam of Patrick’s lips, and then sucks on the bottom lip as he pulls off. He presses his forehead to Patrick’s, and opening his eyes to look directly into Patrick’s, he asks, “What do you want? Tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”

“I’m going to suck you off,” Patrick says simply. 

Pete groans and thumps his head back against the wall. That sounds beyond perfect, but that’s not what he’d meant when he asked Patrick. He more wanted a list of obscene things do to him, even if they don’t have time to do them all. “That’s what you want? What do you want me to do?”

“Get you pants off and sit on the couch.” There’s a tone in Patrick voice that’s more command than request, and Pete’s cock jumps, though he still can’t help but push.  
“But-“ Pete shouldn’t complain, Patrick has just offered to give him a blow job, and really Pete couldn’t ask for much more, but he wants to do so much to Patrick.  
“That’s what I want,” Patrick says, his voice all low and thick.

Pete is compliant, because Patrick should always have everything he wants, and because Pete really wants it, too. He eyes the door again. It’s defiantly locked, he can see the deadbolt. Being found sprawled almost naked on a couch with Patrick Stump’s mouth on his cock is not something that he wants to happen tonight. But being sprawled almost naked on a couch with Patrick Stump’s mouth around his cock is certainly something he wants. God, he wants that.

He kicks off his sneakers and shimmies out of his jeans, and it’s not easy, they’re still damp with drying sweat from the show, clinging to his skin. But then he’s down to his gorgeous panties, and Patrick pulls him close and kisses him again. His hands are all over Pete’s body, warm and hungry. He runs his palms over the panties first, over Pete’s ass and erection. He’s hard as fuck now, and Patrick’s hands are magical. Patrick skims his hands over Pete’s ass, squeezing hard enough to make Pete moan, and then finally down the front of the panties to fist his dick. 

It’s just a few strokes, a warm up, but it feels so fucking good to have Patrick’s hand on him after waiting all day, and even better because of his silky underwear. Pete breaks the kiss to swear, because, “Fuckfuckfuck. Jesus. God.”

But Patrick’s mouth is on Pete’s neck again, just behind his ear, and it sends his head spinning. Patrick steers him to the couch, which is not the cleanest of couches, but right now Pete doesn’t care if it means that Patrick is about to do what he’s actually about to do.

Pete sits, lying slouched back on the sofa with his legs spread wide. He’s straining against the panties, and the soft lace and silk feel so good against his hard-on.

Patrick untucks him from his underwear so that the waistband is just pushed down against his balls. They’re a snug fit anyway, so the press of the elastic just adds to the sensation. He rubs his hand over Pete’s hip, and then the other side, up his thigh, starting at the knee. It’s all prep, all to build anticipation, as if they both haven’t been waiting for this all day, as if time is not extremely limited. 

Patrick is an artist though, and art can’t be rushed. 

He licks at the batheart and then takes hold of his dick licking leisurely around the head and the sinking down. He repeats the move a handful of times and then pulls off slowly, dragging his tongue along the underside of the shaft with a quick flick around the tip. Pete would be sad that his epic blowjob is being interrupted, but Patrick skims his hands over Pete’s hips, up over his stomach

“You look so fucking good, you have no idea,” he says smoothing his hand down Pete’s thigh. “I wish we had more time.”  
“We will in a few days.”

Patrick’s other hand pulls the panties to the side a little, and it’s enough to allow his index finger to slip back past Pete’s balls. He sinks back down onto Pete’s dick at the same time, and Pete’s hips jerk forward, the tip of his cock hitting the back of Patrick’s throat making him splutter a little. Pete can’t _help_ it though, Patrick’s finger is circling his hole, not pressing in, but teasing around and around. 

The sound of Pete’s laboured breathing and the wet sound of Patrick’s mouth are the only noises filling the room as Patrick sucks and licks, taking Pete apart. Patrick’s finger retreats from Pete’s hole and then Pete hears why - there’s the jangle of a belt and when he looks down, he just glimpses the smallest sliver of Patrick’s skin where he has his pants open. Patrick gives himself a few strokes, and Pete’s hips jerk again at the thought of Patrick touching himself, and not only that, but touching himself while sucking Pete off.

Pete is so close he can taste it. His breathing is coming in pants, his head is swimming. “Oh my fucking god. I have no idea what I did to deser— _fuck_ —to deserve this, but Jesus Christ. I promise I’ll just do it again if you tell me. Shit. Patrick, I’m so close—“

Patrick presses his finger inside Pete, and Pete never finishes his sentence, muffling his grown with his palm, and coming down Patrick’s throat. It’s the best orgasm he’s had in days and days, coincidently since the last time he and Patrick were together. It’s almost a blackout, and Pete takes a long moment trying to breathe and summon the energy to open his eyes. He hears the jingle of Patrick’s belt again and he knows he has super important work to do.

Pete pulls him up, and Patrick goes willingly into Pete’s lap. As soon as he’s there, and his face is buried in Pete’s neck, Pete works him hard and fast. Patrick is fully clothed and fully covered except for his exposed dick and the patch of his chest on show through the opening of his shirt. It’s not fair, even if Pete can see more skin now than before, he wants all of Patrick on show, even if he won’t see everything in the dim fluorescent light, to see every hair and pore and crevice. He’ll make do though, of course, because any amount of Patrick is amazing, and more than he feels he ever deserves.

Patrick clings on, mouth open, one hand gripping Pete’s bicep and the other in his hair. His hips move with Pete’s fist, forward, forward, rolling in almost the same way he grinds against his guitar on stage, that little swivel that turns up the heat for Pete every single time. He leans up and kisses Pete, desperately breathing, moaning into Pete’s mouth. He’s soaked with sweat, and not just sweat from the show, but glorious new sex-sweat. And, god, if Pete could come again tonight, he’d want to do it like this with Patrick hunched over him, warm and sweaty and so, so close.

He can feel Patrick coming undone, feel his chest heaving, the damp on his skin where they’re touching, feel the muscles in his thighs tense and release. Pete loves to see Patrick lose it completely so much, to see Patrick’s veneer fall away. Patrick often tries to plays it cool, like Pete is this horny little fucker and Patrick is the one that just gives in and indulges his whims and fantasies. While that’s sometimes not a total lie, it’s moments like these that give him away, and tells Pete that they’re in it together.

Pete knows that Patrick is close. His moans become a little more musical, his face a picture of fierce concentration and bliss.

 

“You have no idea how beautiful you look right now, Trick,” Pete says, and that does it. Patrick comes, gloriously and unashamedly groaning against Pete’s skin and spilling into his hand. Patrick takes his own minute to come back to earth, to lift his head to kiss Pete. It’s short lived, and they both know time is running out.

The only problem with secret hide-away orgasms, is the lack of supplies like tissues or a wet cloth for clean-up, because Pete of course, has Patrick’s come on his bare stomach. The panties are still intact though, if a little worse for wear, and Pete decides he’s wearing them to the bus even if they’ve got come drying on them. It adds to the secret that only he and Patrick know, and he hasn’t showered yet anyway so he really doesn’t care about the extra filth. He needs to clean up a little bit first, though.

“Sacrifice the shirt?” Pete asks pointing to the drips of come on his belly with his balled up tank.  
“You never wear one anyway. No one will notice anything different,” Patrick teases. It makes Pete grin and want to kiss him again and again and again. But they’ve been gone a while now, and soon people will start looking for them, so Pete does a decent wipe of his stomach and the spot of come on his panties and pulls his jeans back on. 

There's a single kiss before they leave their weird-ass, makeshift love nest; slow and tender, ending with foreheads pressed together. It’s a promise of something more substantial for a different day when they have privacy and time.

It’s hard to go back outside and hang out with everyone else and not be able to keep Patrick’s hand tucked in his, but Pete manages it, his afterglow keeping him relaxed and satisfied, if a little dopey. The secret little glances that he and Patrick share make up for it anyway.

In the end, Pete doesn’t need to kick Trohman off their bus. Instead he leaves Joe alone, and hitches a ride on the other bus, safely curling himself around Patrick for the night. He matches his breathing to Patrick’s and lets the rumble of the wheels against the tarmac carry him off to a deep, contented sleep.


End file.
